Beatus
by Salmagundi
Summary: So, how did Italy wind up on America's doorstep in Bealtaine? The other nations' attempts to save Italy after a natural disaster send them down a course of events that none of them could have anticipated. Side story to Bealtaine. Dubcon.


**Beatus**

Warnings: This contains dubcon and some disturbing content.

Author's Notes: This is a side story to Bealtaine. It takes place after the events of "Cleave" and continues roughly until Italy's appearance in Vola. For those interested, both stories can be found in my archive page here.

_PATER noster, qui es in cœlis;  
sanctificatur nomen tuum:  
Adveniat regnum tuum;  
fiat voluntas tua, _

_sicut in cœlo, et in terra.  
Panem nostrum cotidianum da nobis hodie:  
Et dimitte nobis debita nostra,  
sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris:  
et ne nos inducas in tentationem:  
sed libera nos a malo._

- The Lord's Prayer

*

~ **Dio benedici i bambini **~

"Grandpa Rome!" Italy called out, peering around the corner and down the hallway. A brush was clutched in one chubby little hand, a canvas balanced beneath his other arm as he scampered forward, the edges of his white frock flapping around his legs as he moved. His feet went 'pata pata' on the tiles, his breath coming in excited little pants as he peered behind each door, face scrunched in a pout as none of them yielded the one he was looking for.

He skidded to a halt, almost falling flat, at the scrape of metal on stone, his head turning toward the source of the noise. On toward it he went - _pata pata_ - a curious smile on his face. The door was just slightly ajar already, and he nudged it open and slipped inside, standing in the beam of light, his ruffled hair touched red and gold by the sunlight streaming in the windows behind him. His mouth opened to call out and stayed that way, open and silent.

His grandfather was there, the dented and scarred metal of his armor still managing to catch the light with every motion. And there was Germania too - once ally, often enemy, of Rome. Italy had memories of Germania as a tall, silent man with eyes that sent him running - and he was silent now... silent. The two of them struggling like they would kill one another, but without the cries that normally accompanied their battles. Germania's hand fisted in Rome's hair, shoving the darker nation down against the floor, pressed against his back, and Rome was swearing between sharp pants of what might have been laughter - grunting with every motion Germania made.

Something Germania did, concealed beneath the drape of Rome's cape, made Rome cry out sharply, and Italy gave a frightened little squeak. Both of the adult's heads snapped up and around at the noise, Rome looking frustrated and ruffled for a second but with his anger melting away into a wide-eyed expression that he so rarely showed anyone, much less Italy. Germania's eyes were as blue as ice, and colder.

Italy's brush clattered to the ground, followed quickly by the larger canvas, and Italy was a whirl of white dashing down the hallway with the speed of a hundred frightened hares.

He was cradled among the roots of an olive tree when his grandfather found him, knees curled to his chest and shivering a little despite the heat of the day. Rome was a towering figure, shadowed with the sun to his back, his expression unreadable. But as the older nation sank to his knees, he was all warmth, the gentle affection he showed to Italy that was different than his dealings with the rest of the world.

"It's all right, Italy." He called out, hand stroking the child's hair, and Italy leaned into the touch and let himself be comforted. Rome seemed at a loss for what to say next, still carding his fingers through the silky brown strands. Luckily - or perhaps unluckily - for him, Italy was not.

"G-grandpa Rome," He stuttered in his soft, high pitched voice, "Are you okay? Why were you fighting? Did Germania hurt you?"

In all of his years, he had never seen his grandfather turn a shade of red to match the cape draped across his shoulders - it was a phenomenon he might have been more curious about if he hadn't been overwhelmed by his genuine concern for the man who had raised him. Rome opened his mouth as though he would speak, coughed, then managed the words. "I am... fine, Italy."

With his fear at least partially quelled, Italy clenched his little fists and squeaked in frustration. "Germania is so me~an!" Of course, he would not have dared to run after the tall blonde nation and chirp so fiercely, not when the sight of those chilly blue eyes sent him scrambling for cover, but here he was safe and with his grandfather, and really, Germania was quite unkind for treating his beloved Rome so...

The warmth of a large hand patting him on the head and the rich chuckle from his grandfather's lips drew him up short in the midst of his indignation, and he blinked at the older nation foolishly. "So fierce, my Ita..." Rome scooped him up with a coo of pure delight, ignoring the boy's attempts at keeping up an angry countenance and tickling him until the frown melted away into giggles. "Do not be so upset with Germania. He and I... erm... we have had such... battles... many times. I best him more often than not, though he would surely say otherwise."

Italy felt emboldened enough to respond to this with a passable air of bravery. "No one can beat my grandpa!" He gave a pout, waving his little arms with vehemence, "If Germania tries to fight you again, I will help!" Oh, he wouldn't, he knew he wouldn't, but for just a moment, he could pretend he was a brave boy.

"No!" His grandfather's embrace tightened so quickly that Italy had to squirm just to attempt to draw air, arms wrapped around him protectively, just for a moment before Rome remembered himself and loosened up enough that the boy could breathe. "No, Italy. You must not... fight Germania, do you understand?"

"...no...?" Italy blinked in real confusion, peering up at Rome, who seemed at a loss for words.

Rome gave his head a little shake, then cleared his throat. "You see Italy, when two nations care deeply for each other..." He paused for a moment, rethinking his words. "When two nations are... when they..." Again, he drew up short, breathing out in a sharp huff of frustration. "You mustn't until you're married!" He concluded at last. "Do you understand?" And Italy just stared at him, more lost than he had been before.

"You are a hypocrite, old man." The voice from behind them was low, the tone calm, but it still set Italy to shaking. Germania stood there, not seeming vexed, but simply regarding them coolly. "And you are confusing the child."

"Shut up!" Rome snapped back, almost a growl. "Italy is my grandson and I will teach him as I see fit." Then, to Italy, "If you ever find yourself in doubt, you must just ask yourself what Jesus would do if he were in the same situation."

"Who is Jesus, Grandpa?"

"Er... you remember him, Italy? He was a man with a beard. God's son." Oh yes, God. Italy knew about God... sort of.

"Is he the one you said talked so much because he likes the sound of his own voice?"

A sharp snort escaped from Germania, almost a laugh, and Rome glowered at the blonde nation with his fiercest look before responding. "I said no such thing, Italy. Jesus is a wise man." Before the boy could pipe in with any further questions, he added, "Just trust me and do as I say, little one. It's for your own good."

Italy's eyes opened, wide and golden-brown. "I-if you say so, Grandpa Rome. I will not fight someone until we are married." A pause. "Does that mean that you and Germania are married?" Both of the adult nations choked at this, but Italy continued, his voice taking on a note of delight. "Does this mean Germania is my grandmother now?"

The glint in Rome's brown eyes was humor, but the look on Germania's face was definitely not one of amusement. "Gaius-" He growled, "Am I to suffer the indignity of being referred to as your 'wife'?"

"You know what they say: from the mouths of babes..."

Germania's hand went to the hilt of his sword, but Rome gave a laugh, a casual pat of his hand against Germania's shoulder as he held Italy in the crook of his other arm. "Later, Alaric. You've frightened my boy enough for one day."

Italy poked his head up to look over Rome's shoulder, lips pursed in a pout. Germania's eyes narrowed just a fraction and sent the child ducking back against Rome's solid form with a squeal. He couldn't hear it, but he could feel the laugh vibrating in his grandfather's chest, though the source of his humor still eluded Italy.

Germania was scary. That was all there was to it. He wasn't sure why his grandfather was always around the man... he couldn't imagine ever being near someone so frightening all the time...

-

He woke with the anticipation of pain, but all he felt was a heaviness in his limbs that made sitting up an impossibility. Italy tried it anyway, letting out a soft cry of frustration as his body refused to obey his thoughts and merely flailed weakly among the covers. Immediately someone was beside him, a hand cool on his brow and words murmured soothingly. "Easy, Feli. Easy. You're okay..."

Italy didn't feel okay. He wasn't sure what he felt. His head turned, eyes opening into thin slits, a pitiful whimper as the light assailed him, blinding him for a moment. Sight came to him in waves, just a vague impression of movement, resolving itself into the form hovering over him. Poland looked positively frantic, reaching out a hand to brush strands of hair away from Italy's face and mumbling reassurances.

"Feliks?" His voice was so raspy he could barely recognize it as his own... "W-what..." What had happened? Something bad... Something...

A flash of memories, blurred and indistinct. _Pain. _Looking up at the ceiling far overhead and crying out, the eyes of the angels on him - impassive. Fingers tearing at the floor beneath him as his voice raised in agonized pleas. _Stop, oh please... Not this. Never this. _His shame before God and the world...

_Oh, Germany..._

And he did feel the pain this time, felt it tearing through his middle - the first realization that he'd struggled to a sitting position. Poland was trying to calm him, but he would have none of it. Germany. Where was Germany?

_Why... why would he do this?_

"Stop!" Poland was calling out to him, arms slipped around him and pinning him in place as he cried out and tried to wrest free. "Stop, Feli, you'll hurt yourself!" Beneath the obvious words, the unsaid ones lingered clearly. _Stop or they'll do it to you again._ His motions eased, and he sprawled back among the blankets, his chest rising and falling in weak bursts. Poland looked close to tears, biting his lip as he tucked Italy in, fretting over the blankets.

The sounds of their ragged breathing were the only thing to break the silence, Poland reaching out to pet tentatively at Italy's hair. The weakened nation did nothing to protest it, having neither the energy nor the spirit to try and fight off these gentle attentions. "Germany..."

Poland choked at the name, brows furrowed. There was anger in the depths of his eyes, his normally cheerful features trying to pull into a scowl. "Germany-" His lips twisted on the word, "-Why do you call for him, Feliciano? How can you-" He turned his head away, breathing with a forced calm before looking back to Italy, stroking a strand of hair away from the other nation's eyes. "Just relax, Feli... everything will be okay..." Poland didn't sound convinced, not even as Italy's fingers tangled with his own.

Already the world was beginning to blur, stress and weakness conspiring to drag Italy back down into the dark. He wasn't sure he minded... it was safer there, lost in memories. For the time being, at least...


End file.
